


Adventures In Orlais

by ContreParry



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Foreign Exchange Field Trips, Friendship, Gen, Teen Years, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8311009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry
Summary: Fifteen year old Evelyn Trevelyan goes to Val Royeaux as part of Ostwick Circle's exchange program to encourage the spread of knowledge and mage camaraderie throughout Southern Thedas. But instead of playing ambassador, Evelyn travels around the city while trying to form her own identity as a mage and a person in the ever changing world of Orlais.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as an excuse to explore the cultures of different Circles and write about my own Inquisitor as a teenager. It's mostly me just playing around with different ideas (like soulmates, out of the country exchange trips, Circle politics, etc..), so it isn't too serious.

Evelyn Trevelyan was fifteen when she first saw Val Royeaux. The White Spire pierced the skyline, a gleaming blade of pale marble illuminating the dark night. Here was the center of all formal magical knowledge in Southern Thedas! Here was where good mages learned to be great. It was a beacon of incredible knowledge and delicate finery shining above them all, everything that a Circle was supposed to be encased in gleaming white marble. 

_This_ was where she would spend a month honing her healing abilities and potion craft, in a practical palace of a building. 

It was _beautiful_. 

She wasn’t alone, of course. No mage was permitted to go about outside their Circles without an escort save certain exceptional cases, and Evelyn was no exceptional case. There were other mages in her company- apprentices just like her, all talented in their own branches of magic. But they were all older than her, all close to their Harrowings, and they had little in common with a girl of fifteen. Evelyn was certain that the only reason she was even permitted on this trip was because her brother bribed Ostwick’s Grand Cleric and the First Enchanter with promises and hefty sums of gold. So even though she was in Orlais, experiencing a dream that few ever would, Evelyn felt terribly alone. 

She shared a room with six other girls around her age, all human, all White Spire residents, all Orlesian, and all from minor noble families. None of that was supposed to matter in a Circle, but here it _did_. They all giggled and whispered with each other, hiding their half mocking smiles behind their hands whenever she entered the room. They were all beautiful, all long-limbed and elegant, all experts at presenting their best features through careful application of powders and fine robes. They were all so _fashionable_ , and Evelyn was anything but. 

She tried not to compare herself to the other girls, but she caught enough glimpses of herself in the White Spire’s many mirrors that comparisons just happened. Her skin was too dark and freckled compared to the porcelain complexions of the other girls. It was the color of sand, and her fingers were just as rough from constant practice with her staff. Her eyes were too dark and narrow, not as bright or big or colorful as other eyes. And though her hair was long and a rich black color, it was too thick to manage unless braided into her customary plaits. To add to the list of deficiencies, Evelyn was short and built like a stick. Fifteen. She was _fifteen_ , and her bust was that of a ten year old boy’s! 

Then there was the Mark. A tattoo of thick black ink splashed across her back in bold strokes that reached from the small of her back to the nub of bone at the nape of her neck. A Soulmate Mark. Some people would be enthused at the idea of a Mark. It meant romance, and adventure, and having a match to your own soul that could balance you out. It meant that there was someone out in the world who could support you at your worst and help you be your best. 

But Evelyn hated it, hated seeing the bit of black peeking over her robes in the reflection of glass. She turned her back to walls when she changed, she woke up earlier than the other girls in her Circle and went to bed later so she could take her baths alone, all so no one could glimpse the Mark that bled into her skin nearly a year ago. 

It started with a fever, one that kept her to her bed for nearly a week. She was trapped in a hazy fog of sickness and delusions. Sometimes she was aware of where and when she was, and then other days she was a child back at the Trevelyan household. Sometimes she woke up to one of the other apprentices dabbing her forehead with a cool cloth, and sometimes it was her nanny, who hadn’t aged a day in ten years. But her back always burned, the one constant in so many different worlds and times. 

And when she finally emerged, _it_ was _there_ , with its thick dark lines making up the symbol and the neat scrawl of a name hidden within the design. It ached sometimes, a dull pain that ran through the mark like her muscles were sore. Then there were the occasional bursts of feelings that weren’t her own, ones that usually came in the form of strange dreams filled with flashing steel and barked orders. It was supposed to be romantic, but instead it ran the gamut of being a slight annoyance to being the single most terrifying thing in Evelyn’s life. Sometimes the mark was nothing more than a tattoo of unusual origin. Sometimes it was a horrifying reminder that there was now someone forever tied to her life. 

It was supposed to be a joyous thing, gaining a soulmate mark. It should be exciting, discovering that she wasn’t alone in the world. Marks were supposed to provide comfort! But it was just a reminder of everything Evelyn couldn’t have. Mages don’t have soulmates. Mages don’t have families. And now there was another poor soul in Thedas who wouldn’t experience all the good things that came from having a soulmate. And it was all because they had the bad luck to be stuck with _her_. 

It was easier in Ostwick, where only those who needed to know knew of her mark. First Enchanter Lydia was the first to spy it during her recovery, and she informed Knight Commander Eleanor Thibault. Knight Commander Thibault noted the name (most likely male) and the marking (large) in a thick leather bound ledger she kept locked up in her office and politely told Evelyn to keep the information to herself. No need to stir up trouble, she said with a grim pursing of her thin lips. 

Evelyn knew what sort of trouble the Knight Commander worried about. Some of the more rebellious mages might try their hand at escaping if they thought there was a soul mate out there for them. Evelyn didn’t entertain any ideas of escape, though. Where could she escape to? Figuring out the logistics of escaping was a challenge enough, and though she was fairly certain she could manage there was simply no place to run to once she left. If she left the Circle, what happened afterwards? Evelyn hadn’t the faintest idea. 

So Evelyn kept her mouth shut about her mark. She established a routine to keep the mark hidden from everyone else. She only shared its existence with her closest friend, an elven girl named Leila with her own Mark, a twisting little wriggly snake wrapped around her ankle with the name Darlyn scrawled in the pattern of its scales. Living with a mark in Ostwick was easy enough because she had made it easy. 

But being in Orlais was hard. It was bad enough with those few people who knew of her mark. Sometimes she saw them staring at her back, at the marks they knew lingered under her robes, with wonder and worry. 

First Enchanter Lydia, who was normally so controlled, would look at her with a trace of sorrow whenever she asked how her studies were progressing. She even offered to pour a cup of tea and talk about any troubles, and Evelyn knew that the First Enchanter was thinking about her mark. She was just too polite to bring up the subject, and Evelyn never wanted to have a conversation about something as private as soulmates! 

Leila wanted to daydream about her soulmate. She had elaborate fantasies of finding them, falling in love, and then running off and joining a Dalish clan. After all, she often said, Darlyn was clearly a Dalish name. Evelyn could handle the conversations well enough. Leila was just so thrilled at the prospect of a soulmate, and it made her so happy to talk about her soulmate. It was more difficult when Leila asked Evelyn questions about _her_ soulmate. It just _hurt_ to think of him. Them. Never give them their name, Evelyn thought, because names had power. Leila wanted to think of her soulmate and daydream about them. Evelyn wanted to pretend she never had the damn mark to begin with. 

Even Knight Commander Thibault would slip and let softer emotions flicker in her pale green eyes whenever she visited the Infirmary while Evelyn was on duty. She would give her a gentle thank you when Evelyn handed her a healing potion or bandaged minor wounds, and the Knight Commander was not a gentle person. 

Evelyn could bear scorn and isolation cheerfully enough, but she did not want anyone’s pity. 

No matter how hard Evelyn tried, she struggled in Orlais. The work was a refreshing challenge, and the Orlesian instructors delightfully intellectually stimulating. But the White Spire was terribly different from Ostwick. _Orlais_ was different from Ostwick. She reminded herself of her better qualities. She was a strong mage, and a skilled healer for her age. Perhaps her magical gifts weren’t particularly suited for healing, but she had turned her mind and hands to the task with great zeal. She wanted to heal, and so she would _be_ a healer. She might not ever meet her soulmate, and they could certainly never be together, so Evelyn tried to improve herself without that support, without the balance her soulmate was supposed to bring to her life. And Evelyn knew she was a good person, or at least she put forth an effort to _be_ a good person. She wasn’t cruel, she tried to be kind and to do good, and she didn’t ask for much. But it wasn’t enough to build her confidence. Evelyn simply had to face the truth. 

She was a drab moth in a cage filled with beautiful butterflies. 

Evelyn hid in the library when she wasn’t in lessons or on Templar escorted outings around the city, but even then she couldn’t avoid all of her obligations. She picked at the stained sleeve of her work robe, the result of her staying up at night mixing healing poultices for aching muscles. She liked staying up and working on potions. It was productive, and she was good at it. When she was at her bench mixing potions, Evelyn knew she was in charge. But anywhere else and she looked a complete fool. She’d only make a fool of herself tonight. 

There was a party this evening, a soiree held by some Orlesian lord, and some of the apprentice mages had been invited to demonstrate their skills. Evelyn considered faking an illness to avoid the entire spectacle. Not only was it a frivolous use of magic, party tricks for parlor games, but she’d only make a mess of it and embarrass herself. The Orlesians would laugh behind their masks and dainty gloved hands as Evelyn stumbled and fumbled about, skinny legs and arms flailing everywhere. She’d trip over her feet and tumble ass over tea kettle into a punch bowl, and wouldn’t that just be the final punctuation mark to prove that she didn’t belong? 

She simply wouldn’t go, Evelyn decided. She’d fall ill, sometime after lunch but before dinner. She would pretend she ate bad food, or fake a terrible headache, and retire to her room for the evening. Then she’d curl up with a book from the library and enjoy the night off. Yes, a perfect plan! Now she just had to- 

”Good morning, Apprentice Evelyn.” A cool, cultured voice said lightly. “Why are you sitting on the floor between the herbalism shelves, dear?” 

”Enchanter Vivienne!” Evelyn exclaimed, her voice squeaking as the elegant Enchanter from Montsimmard loomed over her, dressed in a gorgeous outfit of cream and gilt silver, daring and completely unsuited for conversations with lowly apprentices in dusty library corners. She lifted one thin, delicate eyebrow, an indication that she expected Evelyn to talk, and preferably sooner rather than later. 

Enchanter Vivienne was once from Ostwick, Evelyn heard. She was a mage of great promise, a Knight Enchanter of unrivaled skill. She was whisked off to Orlais as soon as she showed potential for greatness, and quickly climbed the ranks in Montsimmard and the Orlesian court. Not only was she an Enchanter, but she was Madame de Fer, the Lady of Iron, Court Enchanter of Empress Celene herself! If the mages of the White Spire were butterflies, Enchanter Vivienne was the most beautiful and exotic of them all! 

”While I’m certain you have a good reason for being here, it won’t do to have you getting your robes filthy before Count Antoine’s fete.” Enchanter Vivienne continued. “I do hope you have other robes, dear.” She eyed the garment, simple brown wool assigned to all Ostwick mages for more labor intensive duties, with obvious distaste. 

”I have a more formal set in my trunk, Enchanter Vivienne.” Evelyn murmured, eyes downcast. Humiliating! This was utterly humiliating! Caught moping in a corner by the most elegant creature in the entire Spire! No, the entire city of Val Royeux! And she was dressed in stained work robes! 

”Good. At least First Enchanter Lydia hasn’t lost _all_ reason.” Enchanter Vivienne cast a critical eye over Evelyn’s robes, and Evelyn knew she was staring at the potion stain on her sleeve. “Though she doesn’t have a good eye for size. That robe is four sizes too large for you.” 

”It’s only a work robe.” Evelyn said miserably. Her formal robes were just as ridiculous. They fit her poorly and were a shade of pale yellow that made her skin look sallow and washed out, like pale river mud. “And the color suits me best.” 

”That is self-pity, dear, and below you.” Enchanter Vivienne said firmly. “Get up.” 

Evelyn could not exactly disobey an Enchanter from Montsimmard, especially one as powerful and highly regarded as Enchanter Vivienne. So she stood up and brushed the dirt off her robes before giving Enchanter Vivienne a quick, polite curtsey. 

”I’ll just go now, and have breakfast.” Evelyn said. She bit her lip as soon as the words came out. Breakfast had been over and finished with hours ago! “I mean, lunch. Lunch is good.” 

”Lunch can wait.” Enchanter Vivienne replied. “Why don’t you and I go to your chest and look at those evening robes, Apprentice Evelyn? I have a feeling I should have looked in on you sooner.” 

”Yes Enchanter Vivienne.” Evelyn recited in a dull tone. This would be how she ended- humiliated to death by a great Enchanter in Orlais for her lack of style. But no lower mage refused an Enchanter, and no one dared cross Enchanter Vivienne. Evelyn led Enchanter Vivienne through empty halls and up a narrow spiral stairway. They passed no one as they went. The other apprentices were probably out in the courtyard, or even on outings in the city. Orlesian mages in good standing had so many privileges that it made Evelyn’s head spin. Outings in the city, invitations to various parties, personal luxuries like fancy scented soaps and elegant silk and velvet clothing… it was outrageous! Evelyn finally reached her room and opened it, holding the heavy oak door open. Enchantress Vivienne swept in and observed the room. 

”Messy.” She said critically, eyeing the scattered clothing and open pots of paint and powder, the bottles of perfume and oils. Evelyn flushed with shame. It wasn’t her mess, but it was her room. Her shared room. Would it really have been such a bother to try and straighten it up? 

“I suppose that is your bed, Apprentice Evelyn.” She pointed to the last bed, nearest to the window. It was the only one that was made. None of the other girls wanted that bed because of the draft from the window. Evelyn just requested an extra quilt from storage and was perfectly content. She liked having access to the window. It provided enough light and space for her collection of elfroot plants. The one growing in the loamy soil was at least three times larger than the one in sandy soil, and Evelyn looked forward to using the plants for her healing potions. She suspected the one in the best soil would have the best healing properties, but there was something to be said for a plant growing in adverse conditions. 

”You are rather tidy, Apprentice Evelyn.” Enchanter Vivienne commented. Evelyn knew that the Enchanter was thinking of her stained robes and tangled hair, and wondering how someone who appeared so messy could be so neat. Evelyn wondered if her soulmate was a stickler for appearances. Maybe they were terribly vain. That would certainly balance Evelyn out, wouldn’t it? Just as well that they would never meet, Evelyn thought glumly. She could never love someone who was so fixated on appearances. 

”I keep a tidy space.” Evelyn replied. “I just prefer simple things.” 

”I pray your formal robes aren’t too simple, dear.” Enchanter Vivienne said. “There is a standard to uphold, after all.” 

Evelyn went to her trunk, unlocked it, and flung the lid open. No use in delaying the inevitable. Enchanter Vivienne would not leave until she saw the robe, so she would see the robe. And then she’d see how awful it was, and how terrible it looked on Evelyn, and then she’d let Evelyn be her drab, clumsy self off in the library or at the potion bench. 

She moved some of her other belongings onto the bed: the two extra sets of daily robes in olive green, her three cotton night shifts, standard issue, three pairs of thick wool socks, a green and yellow Starkhaven plaidweave shawl for chilly nights, and an extra set of tough leather gloves for herbalism. Finally, at the bottom of the trunk, Evelyn pulled out the neatly folded dress robe and let it unravel to its full length. She held it up for Enchanter Vivienne’s appraisal. 

”Well, go on, dear. Try it on!” Enchanter Vivienne encouraged. Evelyn set the robe down on her bed. She could protest, and argue that there wasn’t a point in putting on the ugly thing, but Enchanter Vivienne had that hard, tough look in her eyes that meant she was willing to fight for this. The easier thing would be to put the robe on and show just how awful it was. She turned her back away from Enchanter Vivienne and took off her work robe before shoving the formal robe over her head. She let the fine cotton of the robe swish over her head and drop to her ankles, the yellow fabric drooping and gathering in strange places all over her body. The entire expanse of fabric was unadorned, the only luxury being the quality of the fabric. 

”Standard formal robes for Ostwick apprentice mages, Enchanter Vivienne.” Evelyn said, holding her arms out from her body for Enchanter Vivienne’s inspection. A stick covered in pale mustard, that’s what she looked like, Evelyn thought miserably. 

”First Enchanter Lydia’s taste has certainly gotten worse as she ages.” Enchanter Vivienne remarked. “How could she think any of this would be acceptable for an evening soiree in Val Royeux?” She shook her head, dark eyes picking apart every flaw in the outfit, every one of Evelyn’s flaws. Evelyn tried to stand up straighter and look unafraid. Be unafraid. She was petrified. 

”Even the fit is bad.” Enchanter Vivienne muttered before she straightened her back and spoke in a firm, authoritative voice. “There’s nothing to be done. I will arrange a Templar escort. We will have to buy from the shop floor, but anything is better than this.” 

”Enchanter Vivienne?” 

”My dear, you will not represent Ostwick Circle, let alone all mages of Southern Thedas, in an outfit that resembles a stick of melting butter.” Enchanter Vivienne said firmly. “Pack it up with us, so the tailor understands our plight.” 

It all went by so quickly after that. Evelyn changed into a clean robe and folded up the formal robe before placing everything else back into her trunk and locking it. Enchanter Vivienne organized two Templars to escort them to some tailor shop in the city, one that she claimed owed her a favor. 

Enchantress Vivienne led the way, her heeled shoes clicking on the cobblestones as she led them out of the gates of the White Spire and across the city. Evelyn stumbled behind, clutching her folded up robe close to her chest. Beside her two Templars marched, one on each side. Evelyn stared up at them through her eyelashes. 

The one on the left was Orlesian, one of the Spire guards who was rather young and roguishly good looking. His breastplate gleamed in the sunlight, and his bright blond hair shone in chin length golden waves. He was perfectly polished and a little bit smug. His name was Ser Mathis, and he looked terribly bored. He probably thought escorting two mages through the city was a boring task compared to slaying demons. 

The one on the right was a familiar face, one of the Ostwick Templars traveling with the mage party to Orlais. He was older, his mouse brown hair sprinkled with silver, his face showing the signs of wear and age. He walked with grim purpose. He was Ser Ricard, and even though she had known him for all her time in Ostwick, he had never once said a word to her. 

This, Evelyn realized with growing anxiety, was going to be a terrible ordeal. 

Enchantress Vivienne stormed the tailor’s shop like a general bursting into a war room. The shop assistants fluttered like startled pigeons, ruffling their proverbial feathers when Enchantress Vivienne entered the premises with her entourage. Evelyn hurriedly scuttled inside and tried to blend into the royal blue velvet curtains as a plump older woman with dove grey hair and a bosom like a ship’s prow made her greetings to Enchantress Vivienne. The two women kissed the air above each other’s cheeks and spoke in low Orlesian that Evelyn couldn’t pick up. She briefly debated the merits of casting an enchantment to improve her hearing, but one glance at Ser Mathis and Ser Ricard put a stop to that. Ser Mathis was flirting with the shop girls, but he had one bright blue eye trained on her. And Ser Ricard loomed at the entryway, a sinister figure in steel and scarlet. Evelyn remained silent and tried to remain as interesting as the marble tiled floors. 

”While it is not my practice to purchase from the shop floor, I am afraid we must make an exception this once. Apprentice Evelyn, my dear, show Madame Colette your formal robes.” Enchantress Vivienne ordered crisply. Evelyn edged her way past her two Templar guards and mutely unfolded the robes for the tailor’s inspection. 

”By Andraste! This will not do!” Madame Colette exclaimed. “Mon petit moineau, would you dress a dainty bird in a cloth sack?” She eyed the fabric with distaste. “With some work it could be made to fit for day wear. But pale yellow is not your color, child.” 

”It was good quality fabric on sale, Madame.” Evelyn said softly. The robes were ugly, it was true, but Evelyn felt the need to defend First Enchanter Lydia. The woman had been nothing but kind to her, and it wasn’t her fault that Orlais was so obsessed with fashion! 

”A fine cotton, yes, but fabric does not always make the clothing” Madame Colette lectured in an almost motherly tone. “Now, go to the changing room, so we can fit one of our wares to you.” Evelyn was hastily ushered to a dressing room, followed by Madame Colette, a shop girl with red curls piled up on top of her head, and Enchanter Vivienne. Ser Ricard moved from his spot at the front of the store and stationed himself at the changing room’s entrance. He politely turned his back and the shop girl drew the curtains closed. 

Evelyn slipped out of her slippers and undid the belt around her waist. She hesitantly drew her robe over her head and folded it up before setting it down on a bench padded in cream colored velvet. She stood in her white cotton shift, shivering in the slightly cold air as Madame Colette darted about, taking her measurements and relaying them to the shop girl, who hastily scribbled them down on parchment. 

”Velvet is too heavy for a young girl at a summer party, even in the evening. And cut out all jewel tones, we must think light. A watered silk, perhaps, with embroidery. And emphasize the narrow silhouette, the wider skirts will overpower her. Perhaps white?” Madame Colette was half muttering to herself, half to the people gathered in the room. The shop girl was hastily scribbling notes on the sheet with the measurements. Enchanter Vivienne shook her head. 

”White is a winter color. Why not green?” She suggested. Evelyn felt herself perk up a little. Green was one of her favorite colors. It represented Ostwick, certainly, but it also represented her own family, the black horse rearing back on a field of green. The Trevelyans: Modest in Temper and Bold in Deed. She could bear this Orlesian party if she was wearing something beautiful and green, Evelyn was sure of it! 

”Not a popular color this year.” Madame Colette replied. “But we have a few selections on the floor. Elodie, if you would fetch the storm blue robe with the beading, the tea green with the high neckline, and… the fern green embroidered with the vines and birds down the front.” 

The shop girl, Elodie, hurried out of the room, and Madame Colette circled Evelyn. Enchanter Vivienne stood towards the back and watched as Madame Colette adjusted the cotton shift to fall in neat pleats. 

”Arms out, ma cherié, that’s a girl.” Madame Colette clucked. “Too young for too much bosom, but the back can be cut out and be just as daring.” 

”No back. Please.” Evelyn begged. Not the soul mark! No one could see that! Enough people knew about the mark in Ostwick, she didn’t need to display it for all of Orlais to snicker at! 

”If you insist, then, though daring is in this season.” Madame Colette gestured to Elodie, who had returned with her arms full of shades of blue and green. “Red is a fall color, but it would look good on your skin. Such a pity that the Count was born in the summer.” With a wistful sigh that made it sound as if she truly regretted the fact that she couldn’t dress Evelyn in crimson, Madame Colette whipped out the first robe and slipped it over Evelyn’s head. 

Evelyn stood like a doll in a display case as Madame Colette and Enchanter Vivienne debated the merits of each robe she wore. The beading on the storm blue gown was too similar to another lady’s ball gown that she was bound to wear at the party, and the fern green embroidery too subtle for an evening in the city. Evelyn was shoved into robes varying from the palest of pinks to a wine dark burgundy, tried all different fabrics and cuts and accessories until she felt like her feet were made of lead and her head was just as heavy. In the end they were left with three robes that Madame Colette assured them would be complete with accessories for the evening. 

”But you can only wear one to the event. It would be gauche to change outfits for such a short party.” Enchanter Vivienne said. “The burgundy is rather sensual, but it is beautiful on your skin.” 

The robe in question bared Evelyn’s arms for full view, as the sleeves were slit all the way up to her shoulders. The silk fabric was whisper thin and accented with gold embroidery. The robes crinkled when she moved. When Elodie helpfully pinned Evelyn’s hair up, she felt at least five years older. Even her small bust seemed inconsequential when she looked so very adult! But the dress didn’t fully hide the soul mark, and she already saw the questions in everyone’s eyes when they caught a glimpse of the back of her neck. 

”I found the peach robes rather sweet!” Madame Colette interjected. “Especially paired with the sky blue over-dress! It would be precious!” 

The peach robes were made of layers and layers of delicate watered silk, and wearing them felt like wearing a whisper thin cloud. The over-dress was a heavier brocade silk, embroidered with birds in flight. A pale pink sash encircled her waist and cinched the loose robes closed. It was delicate and quite lovely, but it reminded her of the clothing her mother would shove her in for parties before her magic manifested. Too young, she thought with a little bit of sadness as she stroked the pretty peach silk. 

The last dress was the plainest. The fabric and cut was similar to the peach robes, though the neckline had a high collar that dropped into a low V shape at the front. The sleeves were sheer green fabric that was slit from the shoulder, much like the first set of robes. A girdle of silver circled the waist.. The embroidered designs on the robe were simple, a border of ivy along the hem and around the collar, but it was enough decoration for the fluttery fabric. It didn’t have to be elaborate. Evelyn felt like herself when she put the robe on. She felt like an older, more confident version of herself. 

”I would like to buy the green dress. If that’s alright.” Evelyn added quickly. Vivienne raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Madame Colette clucked her tongue and circled her. 

”The color goes well with your complexion.” She finally said. “We can add an under shift to the robe to make it more modest.” 

”I would like that very much.” Evelyn replied. She couldn’t believe that they were listening to her! Madame Colette was letting her change the dress as she saw fit! This would have never happened in Ostwick! In Ostwick it was… it was... 

It was just different in Ostwick, Evelyn thought with a twinge of guilt. It wasn’t that Ostwick was terrible. It was a quiet Circle. Peaceful. A wonderful place for mages to grow and learn their gifts. A good place away from the rest of the world. In Ostwick it didn’t matter where you came from. If you were a mage you were a mage, and that was that. At least it was so on paper. Evelyn had her suspicions that her family, that _Maxwell_ , had special privileges extended on her behalf so he could occasionally visit her with no less than two Templar guards and an Enchanter present at all times for safety. 

But other than the rare family visit, Evelyn was treated like every other mage at Ostwick. They ate the same foods, they were put on the same chore rotation, and all of their meager possessions were the same Chantry sanctioned ones: three robes (two daily, one for work), three cotton night shifts, three pairs of wool socks, leather gloves, a set of tough leather boots, a pair of indoor slippers, and a copy of the Chant of Light. First Enchanter Lydia gifted the plaidweave shawl and dress robes to all of the older apprentices, gifts “befitting of their station as future mage representatives.” 

Evelyn appreciated the gifts as an expression of First Enchanter Lydia’s affection. She used the shawl on chilly evenings when she and some of the other apprentices tucked the children into bed. And the dress robe… she glanced at it and promised that she’d retrieve it from Madame Colette before she left. There had to be some use for it somewhere! 

”Get dressed in your regular robes, dear. Madame Colette will send a runner to the Spire once your dress is tailored. We’ll get to work on your hair next.” Enchanter Vivienne eyed the two messy braids. “And you can tell me what the apprentices have planned as their display of magic. I won’t have them slacking in their duties.” 

The next few hours rushed by in a blur. With their two Templar escorts in tow, Enchanter Vivienne paraded Evelyn through the city. There were shops everywhere she turned, and cafés with pastries and strange drinks from all across Thedas. They stopped for tea at one of those cafés, where Enchanter Vivienne was apparently a special patron. They sat at a private balcony and watched people bustle about the main square. Ser Mathis eagerly dug into a rich clafoutis and drank tea while telling Enchanter Vivienne every rumor within the order. Ser Ricard nodded a mute acknowledgement of thanks and sipped on his tea, no sugar. He took no dessert. Enchanter Vivienne drank her tea with lemon and honey, and ate creme brulee, one flavored with persimmon. Evelyn sipped on her tea and hesitantly, after much encouragement, ordered a mille-feuille flavored with green tea and strawberries. It was delicious. 

Enchanter Vivienne coaxed everything out of Evelyn over tea: her desire to be a healer, her lack of talent with spirit healing, her affinity for lightning and force magic, how she always felt like a fish out of water, how she never belonged to any one place, and even how she didn’t fit in in Orlais. 

”I’m not very good at being elegant.” Evelyn confessed. “I’m only good at potions and my studies.” 

”Nonsense.” Enchanter Vivienne said briskly. “Elegance is learned, as much as any other skill. Now what will you apprentices perform for the Count’s birthday festivities?” 

”A light show with fire. The others want to make shapes with the flames.” Evelyn said reluctantly. “It’s… nice, I guess.” 

The planned routine was flashy, and Evelyn wasn’t flashy. They wanted to literally play with fire, changing the flames into different colors and transforming the flames into a charging lion at the climax of the performance. It was a good idea in theory, but Evelyn looked at the spell work and the mages who wanted to make the fire charge around the room, and she knew that it was a disaster waiting to happen. The flames from the lion’s body could catch anything on fire. Evelyn said it was a bad idea. But the others didn’t want to hear her. Their eyes were greedily soaking up the image of being the highlight of the evening, and they were already thinking of all the rewards they could reap from an enchanting and successful show of their skills. Evelyn’s caution was unwelcome. 

It was just changing fire into different colors, one girl argued, elementary work that could be accomplished with mere chemicals, if Apprentice Trevelyan was too scared to use magic. Fire was one of the basic elemental spells, surely apprentices at their level could handle it, a boy pointed out. And what, exactly, did a country bumpkin like Apprentice Trevelyan know about Orlesian evening parties, another girl sneered. So Evelyn was told to review the spells, stand back, and let the other mages take charge of the evening’s entertainment. The other mages were just _so_ much older and wiser, and they knew what Orlesians were looking for in entertainment. So Evelyn could only sit back and watch her fellow mages plan to make a spectacle of themselves by setting half of the Orlesian nobility on fire with their uncontrolled magic. 

”And you do not approve.” Enchanter Vivienne remarked. 

”Their technique is shoddy.” Evelyn replied swiftly, and she couldn’t even disguise the bitterness in her voice. “I’ve looked over the spells, and none of them have any discipline! It will be a disaster.” And all of them would get in trouble, and who knew what would happen next? 

”Then let them fail.” Enchanter Vivienne retorted, her voice like iron. “They will only embarrass themselves.” 

”And set everyone and everything on fire!” Evelyn replied. Enchanter Vivienne was acting as if… as if her fellow apprentices were behaving normally! As if tossing magic about in public was perfectly acceptable! It was absurd! 

”Have you told them your concerns?” Enchanter Vivienne asked. “Have you suggested alternatives?” 

”They would not listen, no matter what I said.” Evelyn sighed. “If I were more convincing-” If she were a little more like Enchanter Vivienne, beautiful and confident, the other mages would surely pay attention to what she said! “But they won’t listen to a word I say.” 

”Then show them that you are correct. Do something to prove yourself.” Enchanter Vivienne said calmly. She set her teacup down on her saucer and stared intently at Evelyn, pinning her down with her gaze alone. “It is your choice, Apprentice Evelyn. But you have the knowledge and, I think, the skill to prevent a catastrophe. Now,” Enchanter Vivienne picked up her teacup again. “I believe we will go to someone I know to fix your hair for the event. Unless you have a talent for hairdressing you have kept hidden up to now.” 

Evelyn shook her head and quietly finished her dessert. Enchanter Vivienne’s words echoed through her mind. It is your choice. 

Do something. 

-

It was a fine night under the stars at Count Antoine’s townhouse. His birthday celebrations were held in his central courtyard, and his private guards were discreetly stationed at various points on the estate to prevent spies from digging into his business. Several Bards flitted about and attempted to peer inside the Count’s private rooms. But the Count paid his security well, for no Bard managed to flirt, charm, or trick their way past yet. But the night was still young. 

The music, provided by a quartet of string musicians, soared like birds taking flight. The small fountain at the center of the courtyard bubbled merrily. The garden was beautifully maintained. Not a blade of grass was out of place. The food laid out on the banquet tables was just as perfect, from the bowls of fruit and vegetables cut into the shapes of flowers to the puff pastry swans gliding between the silverware. It was perfection, the absolute definition of an elegant evening garden party in Orlais. 

Vivienne watched the proceedings from up above on a private balcony, a privilege she gladly took advantage of. Staging a fashionably late arrival was always easiest when you were already present. In the meantime she fiddled with her spyglass and watched the guests mingle down below, keeping a careful watch on a tiny figure dressed in a sage green dress and matching slippers. The young woman’s hair was pinned up in a neat little braided crown around her head, and small silver drops hung from her ears. She looked dainty and as fresh as a spring breeze, even when she was hiding among her mage peers in a huddle of bent heads and whispered conversation. 

Vivienne first noticed Evelyn Trevelyan when she was looking over the final list of guest mages at the White Spire. Apprentice Evelyn was the youngest of the new visitors, came from a noble family in Ostwick, and was reputed to be a skilled force Mage and an impressive herbalist. Vivienne saw some great potential in the young woman based on the information she received from the White Spire, but seeing her in person was a slight disappointment. Apprentice Evelyn was a little mouse of a girl who seemed frightened of her own shadow. Vivienne wrote her off as a sort of oddity, a Mage with raw talent and no ambition. It was disappointing, but not surprising. Ostwick could nurture talented mages, but ambition had to come from within the mage, not the Circle. 

But Vivienne was quite surprised to receive a letter from First Enchanter Lydia concerning the young apprentice she dismissed as nothing more than a curious waste of potential. Do not be deceived by her quiet nature, First Enchanter Lydia warned. Evelyn has a spine of steel and a mind sharp enough to match. She just needs a push, Lydia wrote, and she asked that Vivienne look in on her apprentice while she was in Val Royeaux. Evelyn is a lonely girl, and has become more withdrawn in the past year. She only needs some encouragement to truly shine again. Those were First Enchanter Lydia’s words. Lydia always understood her apprentices and what they needed. Of course Vivienne would look after her friend’s apprentice. 

So Vivienne kept an eye out, possibly more closely than Apprentice Evelyn ever suspected. Even now she watched the girl as she stood with her fellow mages and spoke with them. It seemed they were having a rather intense conversation. Evelyn gestured to the guests, and a few of the mages frowned. One mage pointed up above them, and Evelyn’s eyes brightened in excitement. She started speaking, her hands gesturing wildly, and it seemed that the other mages were listening to what Apprentice Evelyn had to say. There were even a few smiles, and one boy looked particularly enthusiastic. The mages, as a group, walked away to join the throng of performers, and Vivienne settled back to watch the Count’s many birthday performances. 

There were the Bards, who sang and joked and charmed the crowd. One red-haired woman strummed a lyre and sang as sweetly as a nightingale. There were jugglers who roamed across the courtyard, tossing brightly colored glass balls up and down with great speed and accuracy. Dancers twirled across stone pavers, floating in silks of a thousand different hues. It was elegant and lovely, not a movement wasted, not a person out of place. It was crisp and clean. It was perfect. 

Finally the apprentice mages performed with fire, shifting the flames in the torches and fire pits surrounding the courtyard to deep blue and bright gold, the colors of Orlais. Vivienne watched as the mages coaxed a giant golden lion of flame out of a fire pit. It prowled around the musician’s stage, keeping its distance from the onlookers as it moved its impressive shaggy head side to side, sparks scattering across stone. The edges of the lion blurred, it, tossed its head back, roared, and a pair of large, feathery wings of flame sprouted out of its back. The heat from the flames washed over the crowd as the lion took to the air. It soared over the courtyard and the crowd of party guests before disappearing in a shower of light and applause. 

Impressive work, Vivienne acknowledged. The fire may have been more suited for the fall, but the Count would appreciate an Orlesian lion strutting about the courtyard. He was always traditional. Vivienne wondered who added the wing charms with so little notice. It was an impressive but of charm work. She would have to learn the particulars later, but for now Vivienne let the apprentice mages bask in the praise that was lauded on them. She noted that Apprentice Evelyn tried to sneak away during the accolades, but two of her fellow mages, the excitable boy and a tall girl with luxurious blonde tresses, prevented her retreat. At least her fellow mages were taking Evelyn under their wings instead of letting her flounder on her own in the stormy sea that was Orlesian society. 

Vivienne knew exactly what that was like. She saw all those cold sneers, heard all the whispers, felt the subtle jabs that came from every direction when she came to Orlais. Behind every lace fan and silk glove was a weapon, one that had to be found and eliminated without revealing your own. Vivienne experienced it all when she came to Orlais, and she thrived in the thorns of Orlesian politics. Vivienne survived because she played The Great Game better than anyone else. Evelyn Trevelyan wanted to survive by refusing to play it at all. 

It was an odd and fascinating decision, Vivienne mused. It certainly impressed her to watch the small girl march about the White Spire in her drab work robes and piles of medical texts, her twin black braids twitching in time with her steps. She seemed so out of place, so very quaint with her stilted formality and stained sleeves. Apprentice Evelyn was such an odd little duckling, and she determinedly kept to her own schedule, paying the outside world little heed. But every once in a while there was a crack in that armor, a ripple in the serene mask of confident routine that Apprentice Evelyn put on, and Vivienne knew that the girl was lonely. 

So when she spied the girl enter the library without taking her breakfast, Vivienne decided to introduce herself. She found herself oddly charmed and fascinated by the soft spoken girl who kept herself so in check. She was so guarded and calm, but every once in a while there was that ripple of feeling, that fire that told her that Apprentice Evelyn was not as at peace as she tried to be. The girl was both sullen and wistful, stubborn in her refusal to involve herself in the daily life of the White Spire yet still longing to belong _somewhere_. She rejected fine clothing and wore her work robes, but Vivienne caught those sad looks at the dresses other mages wore in the White Spire. She saw how Evelyn’s rough fingertips gently caressed the silk and chiffon of the dresses she tried on in Madame Colette’s shop. So Vivienne found a way to get the girl to talk, cajoling her into speaking and bribing her with cake and conversation. 

When Apprentice Evelyn finally decided to speak, Vivienne was pleased to find the girl had plenty to say. First Enchanter Lydia was correct about her pupil’s talents and bright mind. Evelyn was a fountain of information and ideas, and Vivienne enjoyed picking her mind on technique and potion making. She was perhaps a little radical due the the optimism she developed from her rather sheltered upbringing in isolated Ostwick, but Apprentice Evelyn was eager to help others with her magic. 

”I want to heal.” She had confided in Vivienne during their sojourn at the café earlier that day. “And so many people could use a good healer. I’m not any good with spirit healing, but I’m skilled at potions. If the Chantry let us open clinics, mages could use their skills to help people!” Evelyn then glanced at their Templar escorts, blushed brightly, and stared so hard at her lap that her gaze could have burned a hole through the fabric of her robe. Her embarrassment was rather sweet and childish, and Vivienne felt herself soften her harsher opinions of the girl. 

Helping others with magic was a noble idea. Naive and not fully thought out, but noble. It was the sort of thought that the best of mages would entertain. So Vivienne offered a few suggestions of her own, encouraged the girl to continue her studies, and extended an invitation for Apprentice Evelyn to roam through the libraries of Montsimmard to research herbs and medicinal magic. Apprentice Evelyn accepted the invitation eagerly. 

Vivienne looked down as the man of the hour, Count Antoine, approached the gathered group of mages. The old goat was ill-tempered and cantankerous, but he seemed in a decent enough mood tonight. He spoke with the apprentices one by one, who all bowed or curtsied as was appropriate and murmured some reply of their own. When he reached Apprentice Evelyn, she curtsied, her small slippered foot extended out behind her in a point. She rose and exchanged a few words, Count Antoine leaning in to hear her better. Apprentice Evelyn must have said something amusing, for much to Vivienne’s surprise the Count roared with laughter and patted the girl’s head fondly before moving on to greet the next mage in the line. Vivienne smiled and retreated from the balcony to descend and make her rounds and greet the cream of Orlesian society. She would speak with Apprentice Evelyn later tonight. 

She finally caught Apprentice Evelyn sitting on a bench in a hidden alcove of the Count’s rather elaborate rose garden. She was not alone, however. Her silent Templar guard, the stern one from Ostwick who seemed to communicate exclusively in nods and frowns, stood just far away enough to offer the illusion of privacy. Evelyn had slipped off her slippers and was examining several blisters forming on the sides of her feet, but she stood up and hastily greeted Vivienne when she approached 

”Enchanter Vivienne!” Apprentice Evelyn said. “I’ll return to the party in a moment, I just needed… well, I needed…” 

”Relax, my dear. I’m not about to scold you.” Vivienne chided gently. “I wanted to congratulate you on your performance. I presume the wings were your idea.” 

”It was something you said that made me think of it.” Evelyn replied, her enthusiasm for the magical theory behind the performance overcoming her customary shyness. “You told me I should talk to the other apprentices and explain myself, and I realized that I never even tried to tell them _why_ the lion was a bad idea. I only said it was. So I told them the problems with the lion and said we should come up with something different, like charms to push everyone out of the lion’s path. Tanya said that would be too complex to create in such a short time, but then Markel suggested wings! Since I’ve done charms making birds out of light before all I had to do was set the spells at different intervals to fit the lion shape!” 

”And when the lion spell wavered at the beginning? What did you do then?” Vivienne asked, and Evelyn blushed. 

”I might have strengthened the charms when I added the wings.” She said bashfully. “Just a little. I didn’t think anyone noticed!” 

”You did well, Apprentice.” Vivienne told the girl. “An excellent display of magic. What did you tell the Count that so amused him?” 

”Oh!” Evelyn smiled and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He asked about the wings. I said we were afraid his guests might catch fire if the lion ran through the courtyard. He said that would have been a welcome change of pace, so I told him to tell us where we should point the lion if that was what he wanted. Maybe that was a little rude.” 

”I doubt Count Antoine would take you to task for a little rudeness.” Vivienne replied. Out of the corner of her eye she could have sworn the Ostwick Templar’s lips twitched in a brief smile. “Now, Apprentice Evelyn, if you would join me for a turn around the courtyard? There are a few people I would love to introduce you to.” 

Vivienne walked through the Orlesian crowd like a ship parting the waves, and Apprentice Evelyn followed in her wake.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading this story! I really do appreciate it!


End file.
